


Kahit Hindi Mo Alam (Maybe You'll Be There)

by Mabini_bini (your_lightness)



Series: Kalayaan Verse [1]
Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018), Heneral Luna (2015), Heneral Luna (2015) RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Heneral Luna - Freeform, KalayaanVerse, Katipunan, M/M, Mabinaldo - Freeform, Multi, although thats too much to ask, delusional!Aguinaldo, disregard actual historical events for this fic, do not link actual history to this thanks, this fic is like a hundred years late, this is unreliable history material, unstable!Mabini
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:37:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_lightness/pseuds/Mabini_bini
Summary: KalayaanVerse AU. Apolinario "Pole" Mabini is Andres Bonifacio's humble informant and adviser of the Katipunan. Emilio "Miong" Aguinaldo is the captain of Magdalo, one of America's champion troops against Spanish (and unwittingly, against Philippine Revolutionary) forces.When epitomes of opposite worlds and beliefs collide in a quaint pub,  a love like no other and disaster will conquer their lives as long as they are able to live.Note: If you are not able to view this story by clicking the title, click the number of comments below (for now, it's 2) and it will re-direct you to the bottom page of the over-all story. Thank you.





	1. Kathang- Isip

##  **k a b a n a t a | I |** _kathang-isip/imagination_

By the end of the second night, Apolinario had enough. 

The Americans drank, they flirted with the local girls, and they drank some more. For weeks now the quaint Kalayaan pub had been full of loud, obnoxious, carousing American servicemen, Filipino privates tailing behind them.

* * *

To a foreigner, the Kalayaan pub may look like a normal bar that had the theme of a home during Spanish colonial Philippines. 

Its heavy, Acacia doors were donations from the Luna family that came all the way from Binondo. Its deteriorating floors creaked whenever one would enter, yet there was no single loose floorboard that could easily bring a careless, or utterly drunk person landing on his nose. Its tables and stools are recycled wood from Andres Bonifacio’s former home- rather, from what was left of it. A long, polished counter ran across the side of the pub to a partitioning wall. 

However, the pub’s one purpose was crowned behind the counter. 

Bottles of aged Spanish wine and other alcohols from Europe were displayed on the midst of the shelves, seen by everyone in the pub. These were obtained through the Suez Canal trade, and were brought by Marcelo del Pilar. 

Dwarfed by these imported spirits, unlabeled bottles that contained a pale brown liquid were placed on the obscure sides of the shelves. These are Tuba from Ilocandia, that were once brought by Apolinario’s close friend, Diego Silang, and his wife, Gabriela. These were best-selling among Indio laborers which were the majority of their customers. 

The place now smells of cheap alcohol with a hint of tobacco and gunpowder instead of the scent of bibingka and bread it once served a lifetime ago. 

This pub held witness to all of the Katipunan’s betrayals, losses and victories alike. In this very pub, some of their brothers and sisters had been dragged to be executed when they were supposed to be having a good time. And after each battle, wounded fighters would come in to be treated and fed.

However, if the tides have turned in their favor, they would let the alcohol get the best of them. During those times, this pub would be their inn. 

The pub seemed to be an ordinary drinking house. But for Apolinario and many others, it is home.

* * *

He found the alliance disgusting- yet it was a vaguely interesting break in the same tedious old routine. 

But in hindsight, they seemed not to be all that bad. They generally tried to be well behaved, they poured a lot of money into his pub, and after all, they were allies fighting a common enemy. 

Truth be told, they weren't starting to drive Apolinario mad at all. 

He was. The irritating man seemed to be a Filipino like him, if not part Spanish-Chinese. Apolinario took one small glance at him. He wore majestic blue and medals that shone against the dim light of the capiz chandeliers. 

"Ilyong! Pour me some more wine!” 

Apolinario scanned the pub for any sign of Emilio “Ilyong” Jacinto, his supposed assistant, in an attempt to avoid having to socialize with him. However, there was no sign of the ruffled- hair teenager among the crowd. For the third time this day, Jacinto disappeared from his sight. 

He looked up at the grinning man holding his empty glass over the bar. Everything about him irritated Pole. The way he tried so damn hard to speak English, and how his strange Tagalog accent still hung in his voice. How his hair was combed way too neatly, Apolinario doubted if this man ever even fought in the battles that he constantly bragged about. But what had irked him the most was his arrogance… Apolinario had not been the least bit surprised to learn he is Captain. He spoke and acted like the whole of Filipinas owed him their constant triumphs in every war. 

Apolinario gritted his teeth and snatched the glass. 

“Señor, if I may, the young man that you have been looking for is not here.” Apolinario reached for the last bottle on the top shelf. As he grasped its smooth neck, a distant memory of local wine and a close friend washed upon him like turbulent, restless waves. He unconsciously made his grip harder than necessary. 

Before he could even come to, shattered glass fell on top of the varnished mahogany counter. It was too late before he had realized that it had cut through his palm, blood dripping down his white sleeves. He could feel the shards stinging his flesh, yet the searing pain only made him curl his wounded fist even more tightly.

Apolinario attempted to force himself into sanity. 

He headed to the wine cellar downstairs. “Excuse me, Señor. I will replace your wine-“

He felt a strong, warm hand seize his trembling wrist. He turned to him, his wide eyes welcomed his own. “Please, pay no mind about the bottle. Your wounds, however-“

“SEÑOR POLE!” A boy’s voice suddenly tore through the uproarious crowds, momentarily silencing the rowdy men. Not before long, their apathy and carousing resumed. Fortunately, they were way too drunk to pay them heed, let alone notice that an Indio single- handedly managed to make a High Captain unusually fussy. 

Jacinto hastily made his way to them, but froze part-way at the sight of the man clad in blue. “Kapitan Miong! What had happened to him?”

“You’re finally back.” ‘Miong’, who was still holding Apolinario’s wrist, greeted him. “There had been a minor accident. Where can I take him?”

“I am not a child, not when I am older than you two. These are mere splinters, I can take care of myself. Hand me the tweezers in the cupboard, Ilyong.”

Apolinario firmly pulled himself away from the man’s hold. He calmly pulled out a chair tucked underneath a table near him and sat. The man followed suit, taking the seat opposite him.

“We will need a basin of hot water and some towels too.” The captain added. The lad blinked his eyes at the pair, unbelieving. Setting aside his own astonishment, he immediately followed what was ordered to him, like how a faithful subordinate would do to his seniors. 

As soon as he left, awkward silence surfaced between Apolinario and ‘Miong’.

“I am… Captain Emilio Aguinaldo. Of Cavite.” He sounded like he was reading lines off a script. “But you can call me Miong, if you prefer so.”

“Apolinario… Maranan. Of Bulacan.” Apolinario winced at the sound. Even though Aguinaldo seemed kind enough, he is surely an ally to the Americans, and therefore, couldn’t be trusted, not even with his real name. 

What if… he knew? No, no, that just can’t be… Is this all a trap? 

“Earlier, Ilyong called you Pole.” Aguinaldo recalled as his thumb circled the stubble on his chin. “No offense to you, good Señor, but although your name sounds wonderful, it stretches on to seven whole syllables, so if you don’t mind-“

“Six syllables, Kapitan.” Apolinario cut off abruptly, which made him scold himself for interrupting him.  
Finally, he sighed in resignation. “You may also call me ‘Pole’ if you wish so, Kapitan Miong.” 

It wasn’t like he had a choice- outright defiance to Aguinaldo could instantly give him (and might as well the whole of Katipunan with him,) away. 

Aguinaldo brushed off the remark and laughed heartily. “We can cut the formality outside of the battle zone, Pole. I am never higher than you are, and something’s telling me that you aren’t that old.” He winked at him, forcing Pole to discreetly turn away to hide the red rising in his cheeks.

“You seem to be so sure of yourself.” Apolinario challenged him. “Why don’t you tell me then? How young do you think I am?”

“Is it twenty-seven?” Aguinaldo’s voice strangely held hope.

“Almost. Do I really look that juvenile to you?” Apolinario asked.

“Partly.” Aguinaldo leant back on his chair. “Is it thirty?”

“Close enough.” Apolinario faced the captain. His lips couldn’t resist pulling into a small smile as Aguinaldo’s expectant, shining eyes met his own. “Thirty-two.”

“No way.” Aguinaldo gaped in beguilement. “I’m only twenty- five, though. Life can be damned odd sometimes. I was made Cabeza back in Binakayan when I was seventeen. My parents thought I could evade conscription with that. I mean, it did work fine for a year or two.”

“How awfully lucky it is to be you.” As he said the sarcastic remark, Apolinario felt his wounded hand stung. He almost forgot about his shard- studded palm, and how this man, amidst his aura of arrogance, had the initiative to stay until he was treated. Yet he was unable to stop the stab of disgust and jealousy. How could this man stay oblivious as to how the people around him already suffered and endured so much more at the hands of the preying frailes and gobernadorcillos? Compared to him being merely dethroned as the damned chief when he was barely even eighteen, not many Indios his age survived unscathed. 

He couldn’t stop himself from blurting out. “But hey, look now. You ended up fighting for the Americans, after all.”

“War broke out.” Aguinaldo stated monotonously. “Everything fell out of place and no one couldn’t stop me from being drafted anyway.”

Apolinario could feel another snark at the tip of his tongue to be lashed out to the lucky prince, but he spotted Jacinto approaching, holding a tray of things he was told to bring. 

As soon as the tray was placed on the table, Aguinaldo looked like he had mouthed an urgent command to Jacinto to which the lad had responded to immediately.

_“Leave.”_

Jacinto silently nodded and followed the order. Before bolted away from the pair, Jacinto gave Apolinario a wink, followed by a small smirk. 

Apolinario only sighed softly, and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Give me your hand, Pole.” Aguinaldo smiled, his tanned palm curled open. His voice did not sound commanding nor stern. It was like how a child would call his beloved puppy, and it made Apolinario’s heart sink a little.

He gently placed his open hand on his. He felt the warmth of Aguinaldo’s calloused skin, making the blood in his veins rush, and his fingers tremble slightly.

Aguinaldo only chuckled, and yet, it made his stomach somersault uncomfortably at the sound. 

“It’s okay.” He reassures him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Sadly, I don’t. I don’t think I ever will.

Apolinario could only watch as Aguinaldo picked up the tweezers with his free hand. A faint pinch stung him briefly. Surely, this was much less painful than having to removing them himself. 

“I was assigned as a medic when I was new to the army.” Aguinaldo recalls gingerly. “ I hated… seeing others in pain. Especially when it is for her. Especially when it is for Filipinas. I knew that this war would not be easy.”

“When have you come to such a realization?”Apolinario wished to know more of him. 

“To be completely honest with you, it came to me… just now.” Aguinaldo paused and smiled sadly. “I wish this war could stop tearing everything apart, Pole. Without the fear of being robbed of a tomorrow, or of a family.”

“The fight won’t stop without taking something of equal weight, Miong.” Apolinario spoke firmly, as he sees the small shards being carefully dug and taken out of his lacerations. “Temporary peace is possible, yes, but it comes with a deadly price the country has to pay with time- and that is, the hearts and loyalty of her own children, and of their generations to come.”

“Pole, are you saying death is better than the well-being and safety of everyone? Is constantly being persecuted by stronger, foreign forces better than making this chaos stop by simply siding with them?” Aguinaldo froze, holding the tweezer in mid-air. “Is Filipinas worth the sacrifice, when _she_ cannot even… protect them?”

_What did Aguinaldo had to go through in order to conclude that Filipinas was no more than a useless wasteland with no potential of improvement, of healing? Apolinario’s mind screamed the question to himself. It partly shattered him._

“If Filipinas, the land of our birth, isn’t worth it, Miong,” Apolinario swallowed the grief choking his throat, and continued. “Then nothing is.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter! Feel free to comment, suggest and ask here, and don't forget to leave a Kudos if you liked it so far. It's really important to me (as a noob in this unknown terrain). 
> 
> This is my first official story in Archive of Our Own! Although I have created an account ages ago, it was just about now that I have written my first fanfic. Although please do not expect this to be so closely related to the actual Philippine History. I have included little facts of our BAEyanis, but that doesn't mean that their endings in real life will also be the ending here. 
> 
> Mahal ko kayo. <3


	2. Sundo

##  **k a b a n a t a | II |** _sundo/fetch me home_

The starless sky shone overhead, and it taunted him ever so irritatingly. 

Apolinario had once believed peace was attainable, but he still held his own suspicions as tightly as how he held his hopes. Sadly and painfully, time had come for his terrors to come true. 

Everything had started to plummet downhill recently. Just as when everyone thought that things were close to perfect, they had lost operation after operation, and with it, the inevitable loss of life and loyalty. And Apolinario, who despised killing and combat himself, wasn’t saved from the waves of misfortune that have, and will keep crashing upon the _Katipunan_ as days go by. 

Almost a month ago, a sergeant of Magdalo had lingered upon the pub in the middle of an _important meeting_. He had caught them planning for an attack upon the American forces in Kawit. Apolinario was almost killed when the Yank had charged through the door, waved his gun and fired random shots around the room. 

Francisco Roman, or “Paco”, as called fondly by his seniors, had successfully convinced the Magdalo to drink a liter of alcohol so he can hopefully forget the incident and the Katipunan. If not for Paco’s sly method, Apolinario would be lying six feet beneath the ground with a bullet in his head.

But even with the temporary solution, Bonifacio decided that work at night was best for the sake of the Katipunan and Apolinario’s safety. They were both well aware that it will take a toll on his fragile health, but Apolinario only humbly accepted his new duty- and the seemingly hardy Supremo stayed worried for him. 

It was undeniable that the shift violated his natural body clock, disrupting his normal bodily processes. And it had adverse effects on him. He was already drowsy by seven, and by closing time he would rush home to sleep, not even considering dinner. By five in the morning he would wake up for breakfast, and by six he would be back to Kalayaan for the Katipunan. And by two all he could manage to eat is a small lunch before he would plunge himself into work again. 

The new system was bad for him, but he knew it would be good for everyone and everything else. And that’s what matters to him, even if he had to bear with more Americans and their Indio loyalists. 

Unlike the Katipunan that now ambushes at night, most of the American troops went to combat in broad daylight. After, they would come to the pub for a long dinner of _basi_ and beer. 

Their carousing never stopped, although the mornings were more tolerable than evenings. The nights were filled with heir groaning and whining of losses, if not their cheering of their victories. 

The place stayed ever so lively so as long it was still before midnight, the pub’s closing time. It would resume business at late noon; Apolinario worked from six until closing.

His hours were chaotic, and he was thankful to have Emilio Jacinto, and occasionally, Antonio Luna, the High General of the Katipunan, to haul away stubborn drunkards who refused to leave.

Apolinario _almost_ headed home when a raspy voice snickered behind him, breaking the silence that filled the room.

“Damn, I never knew you were _this_ good.” 

He stood at a halt and turned at the sound. Unsurprisingly, a tan-skinned man who wore a white shirt and brown worn-out slacks leant on the partitioning wall beside the counter. He carried a covered _bolo_ on the side of his belt, and it swung wherever he went. With his arms loosely crossed, he sneered at him.

“Cut it, Andong.” Apolinario muttered, his brows furrowed in exhaustion. He did not have the time nor the energy to even bother with Bonifacio’s antics. 

“Why?” Bonifacio sounded sarcastically surprised. “You were able to keep the Magdalo after closing time even when we ran out of alcohol! Now, that’s something, Pole.”

“I was only doing my _job_.” Apolinario monotonously defended. Bonifacio only shook his head and laughed raucously.

“I do not remember flirting with men a _decade_ younger than you,” Bonifacio retorted and mockingly shrugged. “…as a part of your job as barkeep, Pole.” 

“What a conclusion.” Apolinario stated simply, the monotony in his voice did not waver. He knew he was good at appearing to be a living _waxed figure_. He was known to almost never have emotional meltdowns, according to his fellow _Katipuneros_ when they had lost to the Spanish _militar_ and Apolinario could only stare silently at the fresh, bullet-studded corpses. A _manhid_ , the local women would say. 

Yet just for this once, he could be lying to himself. Aguinaldo, almost astonishingly, did have some effect on him, and it bothered him greatly. Although he wouldn’t admit it. 

“If our subordinates saw this illogical side of you right now, they could have easily thought that they had offered their lives for a wild goose chase. Then they’d leave us to die at their place.” Apolinario said. 

“Woah, easy!” Bonifacio’s eyes widened at his too-serious statement. “But that’s why we have you, Pole. To keep my _reckless_ ass from trouble.” 

Bonifacio fumbled in his breast pocket and brought out a brown box wrapped in torn manila paper. He opened its folded lid and retrieved a fat roll of tobacco. “You’re really becoming like Ilyong, damn it. Just because some handsome Magdalo-“

“Wait, and by Ilyong, you do _not_ mean _my assistant,_ Emilio Jacinto.” Apolinario wanted to flush his ears with water in hopes that he might have heard the name incorrectly, but he could only blink unbelievingly.

“I mean it, Pole.” Bonifacio reached for a box of matches on the top shelf beside him. “the _Emilio_ whom his mother had once told us before she got married and left him for good, that we watch over him and make sure he won’t go astray-“

“Yes, Andong, I get it.” Apolinario decided that he had enough _socializing_ for today. “It was surely a mistake to have wasted my time… hearing this. I should head home.”

Bonifacio was about to light his cigarette and bid him goodbye when a sharp, loud gunshot tore through the silence of the warm, damp night. Apolinario halted and turned sharply at him, his panicked gaze met his own. 

Apolinario’s fingers twitched and he felt his body turn cold. He looked at Bonifacio’s paled face. And from the fright all the blood from his face seemed to have drained out.

A loud, scrambled shriek of a man rang on after, sending Bonifacio raging through the front door. 

Apolinario firmly held his violently trembling arm and pushed him behind. 

“It’s too late!” Apolinario hissed at him. “It’s a trap. We cannot afford more casualties, especially not you!” 

“I know that voice, no, it can’t be, Lord, please spare him, please-“ Bonifacio choked. He appeared ready to charge through the door once more, but he stood his ground and looked at Apolinario with eyes full of panic.

“Hold yourself together, Andong!” Apolinario commands sternly. “We cannot take that risk, the Katipunan-“

“-needs me, I damn know that!” Bonifacio finished for him. “But don’t we need Roman too? He was able to smuggle guns for us and even stopped a Yank from blowing your head off, you remember?”

“We will stay here!” Apolinario asserted. “You _do_ understand that we won’t be the only ones who will die with him if we simply fight the Americans, who could be simply waiting outside, unarmed! The whole of Katipunan will fall with us!”

Bonifacio silenced and turned away in resignation. His eyes turned red and glassy, as he bit his lip until a crimson liquid trickled out from the wound. He then fell on his knees with a soft thud. 

“Why does it have to always end like this?” Bonifacio sobbed quietly between quivering breaths. “Tonyong will _definitely_ kill me. That boy was his beloved aide.” 

Apolinario’s heart sank. He wanted to comfort him, but he knew he was in no place to. Bonifacio was still _Supremo_ , even if they were outside of the Katipunan and even if he had his heart torn again. 

Apolinario silently turned away and faced the door. He was anticipating for another wave of dreadful silence. He carefully unlatched the creaky, wooden window from its pane, and peered warily.

The starless sky shone overhead, and it taunted him ever so irritatingly. The humid Manila wind welcomed his exhausted face, its dust kissed his damp cheeks. 

He didn’t see a cold, fresh corpse on the road, nor a battalion of _armed_ American soldiers that he was expecting. Instead, he saw one man very much alive, his arms tensed, and he was holding a pistol on his side. The bags in the man’s eyes made him look older and much tired. His head was bowed low, his hair was tousled like a pile of dried hay. 

And he looked painfully familiar. 

Apolinario could make out the fresh blood that had stained the dirt road, and dark splatters on the man’s immaculate slacks. The sanguine liquid had been smeared too smoothly on the dusty ground, and it dimly reflected the faint moonlight. They, or _he_ must have dragged the boy away right after he had taken away his life. 

“Is Paco still moving, is he breathing, what did they do him, Pole? Where had the bullet hit him? ” Bonifacio shakily asks with his cracked voice. 

“I do not see a body, Andong.” Apolinario closed the window shut, and turned to Bonifacio. A red, angry rage like no other had filled the Supremo’s glassy eyes, and it frightened him. “They could have taken him away to God knows where.”

“But I see someone with a gun and blood on him.” Apolinario adds. “He’s standing right in front of this place. He looked _sorry_.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Bonifacio readied his right hand on the handle of the _bolo_ on his side. “Who is the damned killer?”

“ _Captain_ Emilio Aguinaldo.”

* * *

‘Team Magdalo’ was how the Americans had called Captain Aguinaldo’s _champion_ troops. They were able to crush resistance across the stubborn, merciless lands of Central Luzon and Manila within a span of a _year_.

And the rumors about them had been true- but the young Captain does not have the time to care. So what if they were fully armed and paid generously by the Americans?

They had been fighting against the Spaniards for the country’s _freedom_ and its own republic, and at the same time, they were able to feed their families. And luckily for Aguinaldo, he was able to do _much more_ than merely getting dinner on a table for his family of ten. He was able to renovate their already _grandiose_ home, and every week he was able to hold small, private banquets that had very well pleased the Upper Class and the Americans. 

_Good fortune is to be expected from a leader. It is nothing special._

The Revolutionaries had made a big mistake, as expected of _uneducated Indios,_. And Aguinaldo decided to spend the last moments of his life _proving them so_. For their unrealistic ideals that they do not even damn know a grain of, they chose war instead of making peace with the _good_ Americans. 

Both the Americans (Magdalo with them), and the Revolutionaries had been fighting against the Spaniards, true. But that does not make them allies, even if ironically, they were born of the same blood, on the same land. 

Their difference from the fledgling Revolutionaries is that they were more _capable and reasonable_. The Revolutionaries would charge at their _mighty opponents_ ever so _proudly_ with their puny _bolos_ , bows and arrows. They stood no chance against the American’s cannons, rifles, and their machine guns. And yet, they stood _strong_. 

Deep inside, Aguinaldo had admired their ridiculous perseverance, although it was mostly blind, but awestruck-worthy nonetheless.

_“Why do they keep on fighting in a war they knew they weren’t going to win?”_

Something had changed since he had met Apolinario, the frail and gentle barkeeper back at Kalayaan. He didn’t look smart, but after their unforgettable conversation on that evening, Emilio had been asking himself _treacherous_ questions all night long. 

He never met someone _even a mile close_ to his brilliance.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t possibly put his mind to rest. He convinced himself that it was Apolinario’s words of _freedom and risks_ that had boggled his mind- but he knew that there was _so much more_.

It was his gentle eyes, his beautiful cheekbones that shone with the capiz lights he fondly remembered, and his small smile that had captivated him. It was the gracefulness in his every movement, and it was the clumsy in his unguarded moments. 

The fire crackling in their midst had reminded Captain Aguinaldo so much of _him_. While the other members of Magdalo shared stories of victory and their shenanigans, Aguinaldo was too lost in thought and not a word of their chirpy conversations had crossed his mind. 

It was nearing midnight and the Americans had commanded them to stay hidden and to stand by on the town’s outskirts. Team Magdalo wasn’t supposed to be up this late, but the Americans had told them that they will have a _strange_ operation that ‘will catch those Revolutionary rascals red- handed’. 

“Can’t you see he’s a fucking revolutionary?!” Sergeant Felipe Buencamino raised his voice threateningly, his finger pointed to a young lad across the road who looked utterly lost. “And even their wimp leader and the rest of his allies were staying in whore- house just there!”

“I do not find your speech as any pleasing nor relevant, _Sergeant_.” Aguinaldo interjected coolly as he wiped his rifle with a cloth soaked in coconut oil. “It’s only the Kalayaan pub that’s in front of us, and only servers and barkeepers work there. Please head to the brothels for your own sanity, Sergeant. The head between your legs must have replaced your actual head.”

“Kid, I am still older than you even if this world turned upside-down. “ Buencamino hissed. He grasped him by the collar and pulled him up abruptly. His rifle carelessly slipped off his hand, and for a moment he had forgotten that his subordinates were closely spectating. “If you weren’t a Captain that you don’t deserve, I would have shot your smart mouth off your face.”

Howling and cheering aroused from the other members. They even _encouraged_ the pair to fight. 

“It is not in my intention to anger you, _good sir_.” Aguinaldo tried to appear calm, but his clenched fists shook. He knew it wouldn’t be wise to agitate someone who is armed, so he quickly backed down. “I apologize, Sergeant Buencamino. If you would be so kind-“

At the signal of his plea, the Sergeant forcefully slammed Aguinaldo’s body down, sending him stumbling to his feet. To this the other Magdalos whined in disappointment. Lieutenant Gregorio del Pilar hastily rushed to his aid, and firmly held him from a further fall. 

“So you know how to _respect your seniors,_ after all.” Buencamino scoffed at the confused, disoriented Captain. He continued on, pride and boast high on his voice, “You are still the oblivious, naïve Miong even if you have two, shiny bars on your lapel now. But you will not surpass me anymore, little Miong. Remember that.”

Aguinaldo’s eyes refused to look up at him, and kept his head bowed. Furious, he went back to his place and squatted on the ground quietly. Lieutenant del Pilar followed suit and sat beside him. 

“Are you alright, _Kapitan_ ?” Gregorio became familiarly concerned for him. As the years went by, Aguinaldo had treated this young, intelligent boy as his own son, and Gregorio looked up to him as his model, his father. 

And in the midst of chaos and deceit in this world, Gregorio was pure and kind. Aguinaldo only wished for him to stay that way. Even if he knew in this battlefield he will soon have to know deceit and lies as much as he knows the truth. But for now, Aguinaldo chose to treasure who he is. 

“Still as worried for me, Goyong? Don’t worry.” As always, Aguinaldo only chuckled and gave the Lieutenant a light pat on his back. “I will be fine. Take care of yourself. You still have a life ahead of you.” 

Gregorio seemed satisfied with his reply, and lied down to sleep. Aguinaldo watched him as the other Magdalo members ignored them, and continued on with their raucous laughing and chatter. 

The night dragged on, danger becoming imminent as each minute had passed. If it weren’t for the soft glow of the moonlight and the amber light of the cracking fire, it would be near pitch- black. The silence seemed to stretch on for eternity, as Aguinaldo fidgeted, impatient and anticipating. 

_It was worth the wait._

Heavy, distant footsteps screeched against the dirt road. 

And Sergeant Felipe Buencamino was missing in his seat. Aguinaldo hastily scanned his surroundings for any sign of him, but there was none. He swore under his breath, took his gun with him, and quietly fled. 

“You are a royal pain in the ass, hijo.” Buencamino’s _boastful_ voice, although faint, were audible from Aguinaldo’s place. “That coward, Aguinaldo, had the guts to even resist me. But I do not need his pathetic approval. Your head alone will grant me merit in the eyes of the Americans.” 

There was a quiet, fast- paced panting of _someone_ who struggled to be free. The poor boy’s mouth seemed to be gagged, as his only replies were muffled cries. 

Aguinaldo decided he had enough of this stubborn, hard-headed Buencamino and damn the rest. 

He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: Emilio Jacinto won't be Pole's godchild (chapter amended because of this). I realized that it was strange, and besides, it was to make way for progress and depth for the story.

**Author's Note:**

> "Fiction makes more sense than reality itself."
> 
> This fic doesn't make use of 'artistic liberties' anymore. This fic has almost complete disregard of the events that actually took place in Philippine History even if they take place in the same timeline, so if ever it (or this entire fic) makes you uncomfortable, I sincerely apologize. 
> 
> Regarding updates, I will try to do so once a week. I will not promise anything, because most of mine have been broken and I often forget. 
> 
> This fic isn't perfect. It is a confusing, revolting mass of words. To the ones who read ( and even appreciated it still), I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> -your_lightness


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